


Pounding Hearts, Bloody Knuckles, and Unsaid Whispers

by TheBashfulPoet



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: Fear. That’s the only word he thinks that could describe the state of his mind for these past weeks. Fear, worry, and pain. Fear that every breath he draws in (tasting like bitter sawdust and like a knife to the chest) is one he doesn’t know if she’s shared. Worry that he may not find her in time, that he won’t be quick enough. Pain because every moment without her is like a little piece of himself is being ripped away.Or another little drabble where Clarke gets taken away and Bellamy is slowly losing his mind.





	Pounding Hearts, Bloody Knuckles, and Unsaid Whispers

           Fear. That’s the only word he thinks that could describe the state of his mind for these past weeks. Fear, worry, and pain. Fear that every breath he draws in (tasting like bitter sawdust and like a knife to the chest) is one he doesn’t know if she’s shared. Worry that he may not find her in time, that he won’t be quick enough. Pain because every moment without her is like a little piece of himself is being ripped away.

           He’s pouring over the map again, eyes roaming the familiar shapes and lines of the beaten paths they’ve already traveled time and time again looking for any sign of her. Nothing. She had disappeared without a god damn trace beside a familiar jacket Bellamy had thought he lost months ago. Any other moment thinking of Clarke wearing his clothing would make his stomach twist and flip with a burn of affection and animalistic pride, but now, now it’s only a cold reminder that she’s gone gone gone.

           There is a slam of the door and Monty comes barreling into the room at full speed, almost colliding with Bellamy in his haste to get to him.

           “Bellamy! I’ve got it! I’ve found her!”

           His world stops in perfect stillness. “Where?”

           Later his mind will tell him that this is the moment Monty starts explaining how he found her and who exactly took her but all he can hear is the drumming beat of his heart and the words I’ve found her. I’ve found her. I’ve found her.

           His body is running from the room before his mind even registers that his feet are moving until he’s slammed himself into the rover and his foot is pressed on the gas pedal. The rover is already packed ready with a strike team, a stone-faced Miller at his side in the passenger seat, gun strapped to his shoulder and a set jaw that promises revenge and anger. A similar looking Murphy is at his left in the back, next to a snarling Octavia and determined Raven, each of them waiting for the return of the girl that had once been their leader (and in many way still was) for the girl that had kept them alive for so long on a cold earth that promised nothing but death and war and pain.

 The engine roars to life underneath him and hums in a vicious war song that promises pain and destruction and anyone who dared to take her away. People thought that she was the commander of death, but he? Oh, he was the warrior that pillage and razed in her wake to make sure nothing ever dared to touch her.

           When they arrive at the facility, everything is silent. The breeze dies and every critter and animal that may live in the cracks and crevices of the forest around them hold their breath as if they know a predator lurks nearby. But his prey is not them tonight, no his sights are only set on the shabby building in front of him. His body thrums with adrenaline and pent-up rage that has been simmering the moment she was taken. Whoever was in this building would die tonight, he swore it to himself. A look at his companions told him they promised the same.

           They strike fast, not bothering to ask questions or subdue, their only priority in eliminating the threat and finding her. He combs through room after room, feet carrying him throughout the building at a blinding pace just slow enough for him to do cursory glance for blonde hair or those clear blue eyes. He finds what he’s looking for in a white room stained red.

           When he had last seen her, Clarke had been smiling, blue eyes filled with life and a smile curling on those pretty pink lips as she teased him about something or another. He remembers her wearing that damned blue top of hers that hugs every curve in the most delicious way and picked up the blue in her eyes and the softness of her face. Her hair had been blazing in the sun, a picturesque gold that he thought only existed in paintings and myths, something akin to what mankind might have thought of the blazing glory of fire Prometheus had brought. He had wanted to tell her that he loved her.

           Now that lovely golden hair is matted with blood and those blue eyes are sunken into her skull with dark bruises ringing them in a galaxy of blues, greens, and purples. Her body seems too thin and her skin is two shades paler than he thought was possible. The once mighty and feared Wanheda reduced to a bloodied and crumpled little girl.

His mind is a mess of emotions. Rage, at how someone could do this to  _his_  Clarke. Pain at seeing each new mark on her already too scarred body. Shame for being too late.

           “What have they done to you?” he whispers into the stillness, heartbreaking with each word.

           Her eyes snap open, wild and filled with fear and pain as they search for the intrusion and threat. Her body hunches in on herself while her fingers curl into fists promising pain to whoever tries to touch her. He lowers himself so that he’s level with the bed she’s curled up on, hands up and weapons dropped onto the floor in a moment.

           “It’s me, Clarke. I’m here. You’re safe.”

           “Bellamy?”

           “Yeah, Princess, I’m here.”

           “ _Bellamy_ ,” his name is a prayer on her tongue and a sob in her throat.

           She launches herself off the bed and into his arms before he can stop her for fear of aggravating her already battered body further. She buries her face into his neck, face slick with tears and body racked with muffled sobs and broken gasps of air. His arms wrap around her in an instant, careful not to put pressure on her wounds, but needing to ground himself in her presence all the same.

           “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

           They sit there on the floor for god knows how long, rocking together and reveling in the touch of the other as if they make sure this was all real.

           “I’m never leaving again,” he whispers into her hair when she finally falls asleep. It’s a promise he intends to keep.


End file.
